bubble

Once upon a time a drunken cyclist
spent a night in a graveyard, the tires
full of cash, making slits in swanky black skies
and the faces of deceased divinities
with a Swiss Army knife. Once
upon a time I dreamt of forgetting
my head over there. It was
the largest patch of the land of the free
I knew about, complete with
verbose commendations for every
harebrained creature of the world.
(Once upon a time a saint
hid in a soap bubble.)